That's how I believe the vast majority of Carrollians viewed the unanimous vote of the commissioners last Thursday in imposing a freeze on major portions of residential and commercial development in the county. Yes, believe it or not, there are politicians-rare birds as they may be-who actually keep their campaign promises.

Developers, on the other hand, along with land-use lawyers and individual landowners whose subdivision proposals were already in the "pipeline," considered the enactment of the toughest growth controls in the county's history as a devastating blow that will inflict "a big hurt" on them and the county's economic well-being. One developer went so far as to call it "an act of war," which will lead to a slew of lawsuits.

The immediate effect of the moratorium will be to halt for a year all new subdivision plans covered by the adequate-facilities laws, including some 1700 lots that've passed through the initial review process. It will not, however, apply to: the developments of three or fewer lots, developments in the towns, and development that have already been approved by the Planning Commission. The second measure will stop for a period of nine months most commercial development on land zoned for industrial use.

Now, I decided to go to that 11: A.M. meeting, figuring that the commissioners were eager to vote on the measures and that I'd be out of there well before lunchtime. And I didn't expect there'd be any last minute appeals for them to change their minds from the handful of developers and land-use lawyers in attendance. Heaven knows, they'd made their positions abundantly clear at that boisterous, packed, public hearing a few weeks ago.

But it was not to be, for the President of the Chamber of Commerce went on a long tirade at the beginning about what the chamber felt was the commissioners' unfairness to potential businesses by removing a condition in the freeze exempting parcels three acres or smaller.

Dick Hull, a longtime Westminster developer then took that as his cue to get on his soapbox and express his displeasure with the proposed moratoriums. (None of their arguments carried any weight with the commissioners.) And shortly thereafter, the chairperson announced that no more public comments would be allowed. Poor Dick looked, to quote the Bard of Avon, as "crest-fallen as a dried pear."

After that hurdle had been crossed, I thought the proceedings would then be quickly wrapped up and I wouldn't miss my lunch. But again my hopes were dashed on the rocks, when Dean Minnich began peppering Steve Horn, the Director of Planning, with a bunch of questions, as to what he foresaw would be the practical consequences of the moratorium on building subdivisions, and of his timetable and strategies for coming up with more permanent growth controls, etc. (Clearly, that should've been done on a one-on-one basis beforehand.)

At long last, however, they were finally ready to vote on the measures, much to my screaming stomach's relief. But then the room became as silent as a Trappist monastery, with the commissioners faces as expressionless as those on the Easter Island stone carvings, and not saying a solitary word for well over a minute. Midway through the interminable pause, I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking if I had time to go outside for a smoke while they were making up their minds on how to vote.

Thankfully, Perry Jones broke the silence and put forth the motion for a vote, which Minnich seconded, despite any lingering concerns he may have had.

Now, maybe my eyes were deceiving me, but at that very instant when Minnich cast his vote I'd swear I saw tears rolling down the cheeks of former commissioner Robin Frazier's picture hung directly above his head. If it truly happened, that conference room could possibly be considered as a holy shrine, with thousands of pilgrims flocking from around the world to see it (for a nominal fee of course). And I know that Robin would be ecstatic upon hearing of that miracle in which she was the star attraction.